


Will you wait for me?

by risemidnighthands



Series: Eyes Like A Car Crash [2]
Category: Linkin Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 06:12:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3436469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risemidnighthands/pseuds/risemidnighthands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chester's point of view from my story Eyes Like A Car Crash</p>
            </blockquote>





	Will you wait for me?

**Author's Note:**

> The bold lines mark the cut off for the corresponding chapters of Eyes Like A Car Crash, and are from the song "Can You Feel My Heart" by Bring Me the Horizon

**Can you hear the silence?**

 

I was there with him at the scene.

I stood with him while he stared at the wreck.

I sought comfort in _him_ at the possibility that our bandmates---our _friends_ \---were hurt in the accident.

None of us knew what happened. Dave and Mark were trying to find out, but it seemed to no avail as they moved from uniform to uniform.

He still just stood there. _What the hell is wrong with you, Mikey?_ I thought. Or more accurately, _what the hell **isn’t** wrong with you?_

He didn’t do anything. I couldn’t find one shred of evidence that anything was wrong.

Well, except for the absence of his perfect smile. It was replaced by a stoic expression that gave no hint to his thoughts or feelings.

Then he tells me he is going to bed??? Actually, I don’t know if he was even speaking to **me** \---perhaps just throwing his voice into the void, and hoping it falls on _someone’s_ ears---but he just turned, and started walking back randomly.

_What the **fuck** was going on with you, Mikey?_

Strong old Mike Shinoda, he can write a perfect song filled with emotion, but when it comes to his own, he closes them off.

I didn’t want to leave him alone, so I got him to wait while I let Dave know we were going back.

He didn’t speak a single word to me on the walk to the hotel. I was next to him the whole time, even looked at him periodically, but he pretty much ignored me. _Why couldn’t you have shown me at least one sign of what you were feeling, Mikey? Why couldn’t you have shown me if you were okay or not?_

What the fuck was I supposed to do? This man was determined not to react in any god damn way.

He was stolid the whole way up to the room. Even when we got there, all he did was inform me that he was taking a shower and slammed the door before I could react.

A man from the hotel delivered our bags while he was still in the bathroom and I set his things on the bed on the left before settling myself on the right. I didn’t bother changing or anything---I doubt the thought even crossed my mind given the circumstances---but took off my shoes so I could rest my feet up on the bed.

That’s how I was when he finally came out, my legs outstretched in front of me with my hands in my lap, and my head leaned back against the wall.

When I lifted my head, the sight before my eyes nearly made me forget everything that had happened that night.

There he was with just a towel secured around his hips. _Oh, Mikey_.

And god, he was beautiful. Perks of being the one to share a room with Mike Shinoda is seeing the flesh he refused to show. Unlike me, he would never remove his shirt in public, nor did he at our shows, no matter how hot it got.

I don’t think I even had the capacity to be embarrassed when he caught me staring. He didn’t say anything though. All he did was go to his bags and pull on some clothes before throwing the rest to the floor and getting into bed. His back faced me under the covers.

_Please Mikey, just let me see you. Let me be there for you._

My stupid phone broke my thoughts and it took me a minute to answer it. My voice sounded awful when I spoke to Dave. His words caused a sob to erupt in my chest, and he told me they would be up in a minute.

There I was, hunched over, rubbing my sore, and probably bloodshot, eyes because I just heard that half our band died in a car accident, and my thoughts went to _him_.

_Please be okay when I tell you, Mikey._

I could barely get the words out as I told him. I know he heard me, but he did nothing. He had hardly inclined his head in my direction when I called his attention.

He was asleep when Dave and Mark showed up, so I spoke to them alone.

Some stupid driver had run a red light.

They asked about Mike, but I let them know he was sleeping.

When they left I made my way over to his bed. I stood between the wall with the window, and his body. Aside from the rise and fall of his breath, he was completely still. Usually he looks so peaceful when he is asleep, but there he didn’t. Still, there was no response when I sighed his name in the dark, so I moved to the chair near me, and just watched his sleeping form.

_I know you’re feeling something, Mikey. Please just let me in._

  
  


**Can you see the dark?**

 

He was almost showing emotion when I woke up.

That or he was just tired. He really never was a morning person.

His expression was still stone cold and devoid of feelings when he lifted his face from his hands. I got no morning greeting. In fact he only spoke to tell me that I should not have slept in the chair.

I had fallen asleep just watching him.

I couldn't help it. He is just too beautiful. Besides everyone knew how I felt about him so why deny myself the pleasure?

Well, they knew that I liked him, just not how deep my feelings really went.

He took so long in the bathroom that I had started to get worried. A tad hopeful, too, that he might finally be reacting like a human being. So I knocked and asked if he was okay.

_Show me your feelings, Mikey._

He just responded that he was fine and would be out in a little while.

I didn’t understand what he was doing. I couldn’t tell if he was just in denial or if he was holding it all in. If he let it build up, then he was going to hurt. I didn’t want him to go through that.

Shortly thereafter, he came out and let me know that I could go in if I needed to.

Holding my clothes and toiletries in my arms, I got off of the bed I never even used, and stepped towards the bathroom. I turned around when I entered, and with my hand ready to shut the door, I just watched him.

He was going on completely normally with his routine, like we were going to meet the rest of the band downstairs in a few hours.

_Let it out, Mikey. Don’t do this to yourself._

It took me a moment to realize he was glaring back at me, waiting for me to go take my shower and get ready.

The hot water was somewhat soothing, but all I could think about was him and what he might have been feeling. Afterwards I felt clean, but otherwise nothing was better. Our lives were still a mess.

When I exited, he was completely dressed and re-packed with an emotionless expression on his face. I tried to smile at him, but it probably was not convincing.

 

During the somber plane ride home, I decided what I was going to do, and I knew he was not going to like it.

I needed it for my comfort though.

_I need you, Mikey._

We had carpooled to the airport at the start of the tour, so his car was still at home.

Everything was good and normal then. We laughed and had fun. We joked about Brad’s growing afro, and Joe’s crazy directing.

It would never be like that again.

He wanted to take a cab home, but I wouldn’t let him. I almost expected a fit, but no, that would be too much of a reaction---it would be too human.

When we arrived at his house he took no time to get out of my car and go for his luggage. I cut the engine and slid out as well, but he completely ignored me. In fact, he didn’t pay me any mind until he was unlocking the door to go inside. I followed him in with my bags, and watched him with sad eyes, fearing the argument that was sure to come, as he told me I could go.

Preparing my words while he scrunched his face at me, I started, “Mike…”

I guess he had figured out what I was going to say since I was holding my own bags because he immediately interrupted to say, “No, Chester.”

_Please don’t make this difficult, Mikey._

“I think I should stay with you for a while,” I spoke out hesitantly. I didn’t want him to be alone. I feared for what he might unintentionally or intentionally do to himself.

“You have your own fucking house!” he said, clearly irritated.

“Given the event that just happened, having someone around might be nice,” I tried to reason with him, but he just sneered in my face. I sighed, “Look, Mark is staying with Dave to make sure he is okay---”

“I don’t care what they’re doing! I’m fine on my own. I don’t need you!” he bursted out at me.

_Mikey, please. Do this for me._

Knowing that was going to happen didn’t make it any less painful for me. He could probably see the hurt plainly on my face because he just looked down to the ground again.

Gathering myself, I calmly said to him, “yeah? Well maybe I need you.”

He just mumbled, “whatever,” before taking off up the stairs.

I don’t think I saw him again that night.

_You have no idea how much I need you, Mikey._

 

I stayed for longer than even I expected. I just couldn’t think about leaving. I didn't want him to be alone.

I watched him constantly, and I wanted to be there for him when he finally had enough of holding it it--- _if_ he ever had enough---and had to let the feelings out.

For a long time there were frequently people around. Dave and Mark were there a lot. All the other people related to the band...family...friends.

Mike did not like it.

He slipped away most of the time.

He kept going to his studio. He was escaping.

The three of us---Dave, Mike, and I---had not yet discussed what to do about the band. Would we just stop playing? How could we end Linkin Park?

How could we not? A band of six was now of three, and it was never going to be the same. What could we do?

Mike didn’t care that we were still trying to figure things out; he continued to write music, he kept working like everything hadn’t been ripped up by the roots.

One day I was talking to Dave. He also thought our friend might be in denial. He reminded me how Mike shuts out his feelings and refuses to deal with them, but it helped nothing. I was so frustrated; I knew it was going to hurt him in the end and I wanted so badly to protect him. We shared our concern for him, too. Dave also knew this method of dealing was going to come back and bite him in the ass. What could we do though? He agreed that I should stay and help him even if he didn’t want it.

I swore to myself I would never leave him alone and I would do whatever I could for him, anything he needed.

He just wouldn’t let me.

_Can you not see how much I care about you, Mikey?_

  
  


**Can you fix the broken?**

Every night I laid awake in the guest bed that had become mine. I worried about him. Most nights he would start screaming whether he realized it or not. I would go in to make sure he was okay. He would always brush me off, and turn away when he woke up to find me there. I just wanted to help him.

He wouldn’t let me though.

_Just admit that you’re hurting Mikey._

He rarely accepted my offers of a nice breakfast in the morning, and even if he did, he did so grudgingly and said little.

He spent so much time avoiding me; it was amazing how little I could see him in a week even if we both spent the majority of the time in the same house. He slipped away and hid himself constantly.

Months went by, and nothing really changed. Every day it was the same: me checking on him all the time, him trying to avoid me, him writing, creating, and distracting himself, and me working around the house and watching him. I knew he wanted me to go back to my place and stay there, but I couldn’t bare to leave him alone.

I spent most of my time working around the house; I made the meals that he didn’t eat, and I picked up the house and cleaned even though he didn’t give a shit about it. I was the one who did the grocery shopping since he probably would just do take-out every day otherwise.

Or he wouldn’t eat at all.

_Mikey, why won’t you at least take care of yourself?_

That is why I stayed. I don’t know what he would have done without me, even if he thinks he would be fine.

 

He was fairly pleasant on Thanksgiving---almost...happy-looking---and I was proud of him for that. His parents were so delighted to see him since usually they don’t come over for the holiday. In the past, the band got together with whoever else they wanted to bring and we had a giant meal at Mike's.

This year was different. Dave and I decided to spend the time with our families, and Mike just mumbled that he didn't want to do anything at all.

So I got my son and made Mike invite his parents and call his brother.

I cooked with his mother to come up with a beautiful turkey dinner.

Mike didn’t eat much---nothing like he used to eat. I’m not sure his parents really realized how terribly off their son was because Mike put on a facade and they were just happy to see him.

He did a pretty good job chatting with his brother, Jay.

He always loved Jaime, and even treated him better than he did me.

My boy was pretty thrilled to be able to come since I don’t get to see him as much as I’d like, and I had been spending a lot of time parenting Mike recently. I had to be sure to remember him a little more.

It was just that the damn emcee was so all-consumingly frustrating.

 

Even after that good day though, Mike just went back to hiding away, and being overall unemotional. It had been months since the accident, and I still just didn’t know what to do to help him in the end. He wouldn’t help himself, and he sure as hell wouldn’t let me in.

He didn’t even think he needed help.

_Please, Mikey, just save yourself._

 

I knew December first had to be hard on him, being Brad’s birthday and everything, but he still showed no conscious upsettedness. I spent the day cleaning the house and worrying about him, while he sat up in his office upstairs all day. I made dinner---and lunch---but he never came down to eat it. Any time I went to check on him, he just turned me away again in less time than it took me to step in the doorway.

He didn't reappear until much later that night, and he just rummaged through the kitchen without a single word to me.

I stepped up behind him to see how he was doing, which caused him to ask, “what do you want, Chester?” quite harshly.

I ignored his tone, and simply replied, “I just wanted to see if you needed anything.”

With cold, angry eyes fixed on me, he closed the fridge. “Well I’m fine, so you can back the fuck off.”

This was a normal reaction from him---one to which I’d grown accustomed over the last many months---so I nodded at his annoyed expression, but ended up just looking into his steely eyes. I searched for the hurt and grief, but they were buried too deep see. The dark chocolate pools held the millions of mysteries behind Mike Shinoda, but they were cryptic and difficult to uncover.

I saw the glossy orbs change the harder I stared, and I saw the fear flash in them. Still, I never could have anticipated his mouth connecting with mine in that moment.

It took a second or two for the shock to evaporate, and for me to register that he was kissing me.

That I finally had the chance to discover what his lips felt like against mine.

_I have wanted this for so long, Mikey, but I never thought it would happen._

Then he was pushing me backwards so my lower back collided with the counter. His hands ravaged my back and lower, and I could hardly comprehend what was happening.

All I knew was that I had waited for so long, and maybe---just maybe---that my feelings could be returned and my desires reciprocated.

Suddenly, “Mikey,” was slipping from my lips, my mouth and mind automatically using the nickname I only ever used in my head.

The next thing I knew, my legs were around his waist and he was carrying me to the bedroom. My arms encircled his shoulders to keep myself upright in the kiss, and my dick was getting rather excited.

I was quickly on the bed, and my clothes dropped to the floor.

It was moving all too fast for my brain, and my overbearing longing for him clouded any reason that told me it wasn’t supposed to happen like that.

All I could think about was that he was finally going to love me back, and that maybe he would finally let me in. Maybe, he would finally let me fix him.

When he entered me, he was rough and uncaring, but the pleasure etched on his beautiful face silenced any complaints. I would endure anything to keep him happy.

Jesus, it hurt though. The kissing had stopped and I don’t even know if he saw me underneath him.

Something changed though, and my lower end imploded into satisfaction, washing away the searing pain. I couldn’t help the moaning and the breathy words that shot from my lips. “Mikey, yes! Fuck! Oh god, yes!” I dug my fingernails into his back when I felt his teeth sink into my neck.

Between the delicious friction our bodies were creating on my throbbing cock and his obscene whispers of "fuck, Ches" in my ear, I was brought to a glorious finish as I felt his warmth fill me up.

_I love you, Mikey._

  
  


**Can you help the hopeless?**

 

I fell asleep with him all around me, but was alone when I woke up the next morning. The first thing I heard was something like glass breaking loudly, and I asked, “Mikey?”

I went to the closed bathroom door, and knocked. “Mikey? Babe, are you okay?” The only answer I got was the sound of the shower pouring water.

There was hope in my heart that there was still a chance, but I knew that this was him running away from me. He didn’t return my feelings; I could love him as much as I damn well pleased, but it wouldn’t change the fact that he didn’t. do. feelings.

The second he came out of the bathroom, my hope was was demolished as he ignored me and got dressed. I tried to ask him what he was doing and where he was going, but he didn’t even blink. I watched him with hurt creeping into my eyes and begged him to talk to me. Nothing worked, and he slammed the door, leaving the house without a single word to me.

He was gone for so long, and I got worried.

I called him.

And texted him.

And left messages.

None of which he answered or returned.

I just wanted to know he was okay.

I just wanted to know how he felt.

_I just want to love you, Mikey._

By the time he got back to the house it was late. I was sitting on the couch, anxiously waiting for him to walk in the front door. When he finally did, his demeanor resembled that of my teenage son when he gets caught doing something he isn’t supposed to.

He looked defiant.

“Hey,” I said to Mike, but he wouldn’t even look at me.

“I’m going to bed,” is all he said to me before flying up the stairs to his room.

The door slammed shut before I can even finish asking him if we could talk.

_Mikey, stop running from me._

 

He shut me off even more after that, while I worried about him more.

He would hardly speak to me, but I still tried so hard.

I should have known he wasn’t going to let me in.

 

One night, I heard him stirring after going to bed. When I went to the door, he was whimpering, and I knew the screaming would follow shortly. He had been suffering from these nightmares for about seven months now---since the accident.

Quietly, I opened his door and walked to his bed. He was on his side with his face turned in towards his pillow. His whole body was beginning to shudder. Kneeling on the opposite edge of his sleeping figure, I reached over and shook his shoulder to wake him before the dream got too bad.

He was already crying when his eyes opened and he jumped, turning onto his back. His gaze was unfocused, and he was breathing heavily.

I was more than shocked when he turned into me, curling around my lap.

After a moment of surprise, I reached down to stroke his back with one hand, using my other to run my fingers through his hair while he sobbed into my thigh.

Over and over, he mumbled and cried, “he can’t be gone, Ches. Brad can’t be gone.”

Rubbing his back, I murmured to him, “shh, it’s okay. Mikey, I’m here. It’s okay.”

Eventually I comforted him enough that he went back to sleep, still curled in my lap. He was finally still, almost looking content hugging me close. I couldn’t help it. I leaned over to kiss his forehead, whispering, “I love you, Mike.”

 

I should have left. He just looked so peaceful finally.

When morning came, he screamed at me to leave as he woke up. He didn’t stop freaking out until I got up and left the room.

I don’t think he remembered that he was the one to pull me in during the middle of the night. He didn’t remember that I was the only thing that calmed him down.

That continued for a while. The next night I went in, I left soon after he fell asleep, but that just caused him to fall back into his night terrors, so I stayed.

Even though it made him hate me in the morning.

_Can’t you see that you need me, too, Mikey?_

 

Months went by.

I would hold him at night so he could sleep quietly, and he would completely forget in the morning, growing more angry with me than ever.

Never did we talk about the night of December first.

He didn’t want me.

 

One night I was at the house with Jaime since Mike had gone out. We had had a fun night, hanging out and watching a movie together.

I can’t believe I forgot what day it was.

I was just forcing my son to go to bed when I heard tires screeching down the street. When I looked out the window, I saw Mike’s car speed straight into his own mailbox. I told Jaime to stay in his room and go to sleep, and I walked out to the porch.

Not only had he put a dent in his bumper by running straight into the god damn house, he hit my car, too.

“What the hell, Mike?” I yelled at him, but he clearly didn’t care or hear me in his complete inebriation.

He paused to heave his guts out on the grass before continuing into the house.

He threw up again in the hall before making it to his room, where he passed out on the bed.

I followed him in, staring at him sadly.

_What have you done, Mikey?_

He reeked of bar and alcohol.

I don’t drink anymore.

He never drank much...until then.

I turned his body and found black and purple colouring his face and knuckles.

Drinking and fights. Great.

I changed his clothes for him and put him to bed.

I also cleaned the carpet from his mess, and brought him a glass of water.

I checked up on him every five minutes to make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit or anything.

When I looked in on Jaime, he was awake. My son asked what all the noise was. I told him Mike was a little drunk, and he should just go to sleep.

“Goodnight, I love you, Jaime,” I said before closing the door and going back upstairs.

 

Mike could have been the devil himself when he woke up the next morning.

Angry and hungover is not a good combination, and I’m not sure he understood when I told him everything that happened the night before.

 

It was all downhill from there.

Drinking became a hobby of his, so much so that I didn’t want my teenage boy around the house--- _I_ didn’t even want to be around the house with that much alcohol.

He had beers in his studio.

Liquor at bars.

And shots at clubs.

The last was my least favorite because he started bringing home club trash women, a variety of them, all of whom I hated.

I wasn’t good enough, but they were?

_Mikey, you don’t even like them._

I could tell he never had sex with them. He hardly did anything with them for that matter. It mostly just served to piss me off.

I was tired of it, and after months of it, one night I just lost it.

He was getting ready to go out when I came in and said, "Again, Mike? Seriously? Aren't you tired of this game yet?"

"This isn't a game, Chester, it's my life,” he rolled his eyes at me.

"No, it's not," I responded "Your life is being an artist and a brilliant song-writer. This is you throwing it away."

"Jesus, Chester, will you stop acting like my mother? I'm a grown fucking man."

"Then why don't you start acting like it? Instead of this stupid high school acting out thing."

"Oh, fuck you, dude,” he tried.

"I'm fucking serious. You have so much talent, and you're just wasting it. You never used to drink this much, and it's destroying you. Alcoholism is no good, Mike." He was being so dense.

"Yeah, you would know know, wouldn't you?" he tried to use my past.

"Yes, I would. That's why I don't want it to consume you. You keep getting drunk and bringing home club trash, but I don't think you even want them. You never go all the way with them, and you've forgotten their faces by morning."

"How would you know I don't fuck them, huh? Are you watching me or something? Creep."

"I know what sex sounds like."

"Oh, you're listening? That's fucking perverted. Why don't you get a life of your own and stop interfering with mine? Or wait, maybe you just can't get laid and that's why you keep pining after me. Guess what, it's never going to happen."

He started to lose his composure.

So did I.

"I am here because I fucking love you! We were in fucking Linkin Park, I could get laid if I really wanted that. But what I want is you, Mike. If I can't have that, all I want is to see you okay and happy. I fucking care about you! I am in love with you, Mike Shinoda,” I finally confessed to him.

"No you aren't! Don't fucking say that because it's not true! And if you wanted me to be happy, you would just leave because I don't need or want you here! Just get out of my house and leave me the fuck alone!" he screamed at me, angry tears streaming from his eyes.

I look into his dark chocolate eyes, tears of my own falling.

Finally, I decided. I picked up my keys and walk out the door.

About eighteen months after I entered, I finally left.

  
  


**Can you feel my heart?**

 

I left.

I did.

I finally left Mike.

It took over a year and a half, but I finally walked out the door.

He wouldn’t let me help him no matter what I did.

He shut me out, and pushed me away.

I meant what I said though.

_Mikey, I do love you. Let me in._

I still wanted to be there for him.

 

Going home for the first time in months was strange. Most of my things were still at Mike’s. I didn’t even have my toothbrush in my own house anymore.

I snuck back in the dead of night to get my things. The house was so dark, and I assumed he had gone to bed.

His familiar screams carried through the halls to the room I had lived in for almost two years. I had almost all of my things packed by then, but I paused to just stand and listen.

Something commanded my feet to move, exiting my room and making my way to his. His door was open, and my legs carried me to his side. I stood by the bed, watching him toss and turn. Every now and then he would yell out again, each cry breaking my heart.

I reached out a hand to touch him; I wanted to touch him---to comfort him---so bad.

I knew he had to figure things out on his own though. So I turned around again, and walked slowly to the door. I stopped and watched him a moment before I returned to my things.

Going through the drawers, I found a notepad and pen of mine. I used to use them when Mike and I would write lyrics. It had barely been used since. His painful calls still ringing in my ears, I pulled it out and wrote a letter.

 

"Michael,

I left because you asked, but I am and always will be in love with you. Whatever you need, whenever you want, call and I’ll do anything for you. Any time you are ready, I’ll come back. I love you, Mikey.

C"

 

I set it carefully on the bed before grabbing my bags and slipping out again, stopping only for a moment at the front door to hear his scream.

_I'm still here for you, Mikey._

 

Jaime wondered why we didn't see Mike anymore. I had no idea what to tell him, so I tried to distract him. We went out a lot, spent time with other friends.

Dave was amazed I held on for so long---in reality I still hadn't let go. He knew our old emcee better than I had before the accident. He knew about his aversions to feelings and emotions. He knew that he never got close to anybody.

Now I knew more. I knew that he screamed at night, and cried when he thought he was alone. I knew that he needed help, but would never admit it to himself. I knew, and I loved him.

 

It was hard to go eighteen months of living with this person and then suddenly not seeing him at all. For three months my life was my own, but I wasn't happy. I still cared only for him.

 

When I opened the door to the resounding knocking, I never expected to see Mike there.

Or maybe I did.

I knew he would break---I knew it from the night of the accident that he would not be able to keep it in forever. He needed someone, he had just refused to admit it.

Nonetheless, seeing him there was a shock. I just stood there silently.

I spent eighteen months trying to care for him. It was his turn to say something.

_Why are you here, Mikey?_

I was in no way prepared for the gigantic speech that came pouring from his lips.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about our kiss or the night we had sex. I know it wasn’t the ideal situation, but it was the best thing to happen to me and I fell completely in love with you. It took me a long time to figure it out, and I admit it, but you took my heart with you when I forced you to leave. I was too focused on closing everything off and wanting to disappear, that I pushed you so far away. I’m falling now though because I tried so hard to fight it and it only backfired on me. My feelings brought me back here, to you.

“I don’t know if you will ever be able to save me Chester, or fix me because I’m so fucking broken, but you stayed with me for so long and you saw something in my darkness and heard something in my silence. Maybe I’m hopeless, but I’m pleading you not to give up on me. If you wait, I think you might be the one person who can save me from myself. It’s just that I am terrified to get close to people because that only ever got me hurt and the last person I got close to...the last person I opened up to...died...Brad died...and I’m so alone now, and as much as I hate to admit it, I hate it. I don’t want to feel like this, and each time I feel better, I come crashing back at night. Death follows me everywhere no matter where I go; I can’t drown my demons because they know how to swim, but maybe, just maybe you can help me beat them.

“I love you, Chester. I love you so much, and I am so sorry for everything I have done to you and all the pain I have caused you, and for not appreciating what you did for me. I could never apologize enough. Please, I just need you. I need you, Ches. And god, I want you. Oh Ches, please come back. Please let me love you like I should have been doing all along. Please, just come back to me because I am in love with you, and I always will be.”

All those words and emotions seemed to have taken their toll on him as he was breathing like he had just gone for a run.

I didn’t say anything.

I didn’t really do anything either.

Eventually he couldn’t take the stare-off and he looked down.

_Different when you’re on the other end of the coldness, huh, Mikey?_

It was hard not to laugh when I noticed him checking me out. When he finally looked up again, I said sassily, "enjoying the view?"

My teasing relieved the anxiety and fears he so clearly felt.

“Yeah, I like it a lot,” I began to see his grin, and he took a step forward so that he was standing over me.

I looked up into his eyes that seemed to search for my permission. Finding no signals of discomfort, I felt his fingers gingerly lift up my chin.

Everything was perfect as he kissed me softly. Despite everything that went on between us in the past two years, it felt like that one kiss made up for it.

It was so gentle, and it said so much.

I knew he was going to be okay.

I felt his arms go around my waist when he pulled away, and his head bowed so that it was hidden in my neck.

I lifted my own arms up to go around his neck and shoulders. Crazily enough, I felt safe again with him holding me.

I could barely believe it when I felt the tears drip from his eyes onto the skin of my neck. He was saying "sorry" over and over near my ear.

He was feeling.

"I love you, Mikey," I whispered back to him.

That was when he spoke the words I had been dying to hear again. "I love you, too, Ches. I really do."

_What's with the nickname, Mikey?_

He pulled back, and I questioned, "Ches?"

He just came back at me with, "Mikey?"

I laughed a little and shrugged, then took his hand and yanked him into the house and shut the door.

 


End file.
